Page 51 of A Widow for the Earl
“I thought we might take a walk before we begin,” Duncan said, getting up.
He gave Vincent no real choice in the matter, as he walked right out of the front door. Vincent had hoped that the discord between them after the events of Beatrice’s little party and the game in the old ballroom had been forgotten. However, it seemed that that was wishful thinking on his part.
Ishouldapologize for my behavior that day.Taking in a determined breath, he followed Duncan out onto the driveway. From there, they started their wander on a partially worn trailthat cut across the gleaming lawns, meandering toward the orchards in the near distance.
“I thought some more time might have changed your attitude toward her,” Duncan began, his tone uncharacteristically sharp. “Yet, I see that nothing has altered since the last time I was here.”
Vincent cast his friend a sideways glance. “With respect, you should try living with her before you cast judgment on me. Just last night, she was drinking port in the drawing room with Prudence until almost dawn.” He frowned. “Come now, Lockie, you cannot truly be angry with me. What concern is she of yours?”
“She is my wife’s cousin,” Duncan shot back. “She is the woman my wife adores most in the world, and when Beatrice is sad, my wife is sad, and I do not like to see my wife sad.”
Vincent scoffed awkwardly. “Beatrice is not sad.”
“You claim to be so very observant, yet you see nothing,” Duncan chided. “She visited Thornhill Grange not so long ago, and when she departed, my wife wept all evening. Beatriceissad, she is wounded, she is… somewhat broken beneath that façade of hers, yet you cannot show her the least bit of compassion.”
A heavy sensation pressed down upon Vincent’s chest as he thought back to his conversation with Beatrice. Not the merry one of last night, but the one where she had explained why she did not want to marry again. She had claimed to be exhausted,and she had sounded exhausted. Weary to the marrow of her misfortune.
She thought she had her freedom, at last, and then I came along and layered more bad luck upon the mountain she has already received.
“She has been through enough, Wilds,” Duncan added. “I said this last time, and I shall say it again: this attitude is beneath you. You are too harsh with her, and I know that Valeria would appreciate it if you could be… kind to Beatrice now and then.”
Vincent laughed tightly. “She is still here at this residence. What is that, if not kindness?”
“It is, Wilds, the least she deserves,” Duncan replied, shaking his head. “Befriend her, and you will find that she is not the person you think she is. I was not fond of her at first, finding her too brash and too coarse, but since getting to know her through her sojourns with us at Thornhill, I have learned that she isworthknowing.”
Vincent did not like the feeling of being so harshly judged, though the irony was not lost on him. “I have been doing my best,” he insisted curtly. “If you view her as family, then perhaps you should take her back to Thornhill with you.”
“A place at our home has been offered many times, after every tragedy,” Duncan replied, as if he had expected the suggestion. “She refused, because I suspect she does not want to be aburden. But now, I think it is also because she loves this manor and will not give it up until she has no other choice.”
“Yes, well, sometimes we do not get what we want,” Vincent muttered, the sunlight too bright, the morning already too warm for his comfort. “Maybe, you would be better off trying to convince her to come to Thornhill than bothering me about being kinder, when Iamdoing all I can.”
If I were to do more, I dread to think what might happen…He remembered the soft skin of her cheek beneath the brush of his fingertips, and how dearly he had longed to stay there at her side while she slept. Being close to her was dangerous, being gentle with her was dangerous, and he did not need anyone else confusing his mind.
“I do not need to befriend her,” he added stiffly. “I do not believe men and women who are not relatedcanbefriends, as you well know. Your situation with her is different to mine.”
Duncan shrugged. “She does not seem to have any difficulty being friends with Frederick.”
“Then lethimtake care of her!” Vincent snapped, a hot sensation splintering up through his chest, fierce and furious. “Lethimmarry her, if he is such a good friend to her. I will not alter my beliefs. I will not be her friend. If she does not like that, ifyoudo not like that, then that is not my problem.”
He had almost forgotten about Frederick. The memory of that man’s close relationship with Beatrice burned like harsh liquordown his throat, awakening a feeling that he refused to name. He would never admit, for as long as he lived, that he was jealous.
“I think, perhaps, we should have our meeting another day,” Vincent said, halting. “Good day to you, Lockie.”
He turned and marched away from his friend, for if anyone could recognize jealousy, it would be Duncan. And Vincent could not allow anyone to see that weakness in him, not even a dear friend.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“Ido not see whyImust attend,” Vincent griped from the opposite side of the squabs, as the carriage rattled along unforgiving country roads.
It had been almost a week since the incident in the drawing room, and though Beatrice kept waiting for it, her scolding had never arrived. Nor had the full breadth of the mockery that Vincent had begun at the breakfast table. Indeed, Vincent had been mostly absent, keeping to his study, taking all of his meals there.
However, Prudence had managed to coax him out for one evening only, to attend a dinner party at Darnley Castle.
“Because Tessie invited you,” Prudence retorted, fully recovered from her fleeting fear of being a ruined woman. “And because you need to leave that manor now and again, or you shall start to resemble a ghoul.”
Beatrice stifled a laugh, forshehad enjoyed the past week with Prudence. They had behaved, spending most of their time coming up with a theatrical for the new theater room and failing miserably, their attempts at a script sending them into bouts of weeping laughter. Alongside, Prudence had regaled Beatrice with all of the society gossip and events that she had missed in the four months she had been in mourning; rather, in hiding from society.
“Yes, well, I have a thousand other things that I should be doing,” he muttered, shifting uncomfortably on the squabs.
